


a love with intuition

by ailurea



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bath Houses, Established Relationship, Handwaves S8, M/M, Post-Canon, Romantic Fluff, Soft Spicy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:14:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22096963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ailurea/pseuds/ailurea
Summary: Shiro's spent the past five years running himself ragged with diplomatic missions on behalf of the Garrison, and there's no end in sight.Or, at least, there isn't. Not until Keith takes it upon himself to give Shiro a break—by kidnapping him.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 110
Kudos: 483





	a love with intuition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Green_Destiny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green_Destiny/gifts).



> happy holidays ayla!! ♥  
> you asked for so many wonderful things and i tried to include as many as i possibly could. i hope you enjoy it!
> 
>  **credits**  
>  \- thank you to [allie/artenon](https://ao3.org/users/artenon) for betaing as always!  
> \- title is from [the tower by vienna teng](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sUVRLiQhUrk)

“Tired, Captain?” Veronica says, peering at him from her seat in the shuttle.

“What gave it away?” Shiro says with a wan smile.

It’s a small vehicle, only room for two plus the driver, and the Qarengi are, on average, much smaller than Shiro. He puts his bag on the floor and tucks in his shoulders as he squeezes into the seat.

Another successful mission solidifying another intergalactic ally, and all Shiro wants to do is go home and collapse into Keith’s arms.

It's not a possibility, of course. Shiro’s here, bound to the Atlas, and, by extension, the Garrison. Keith is off somewhere else, ostensibly with the Blades, but everyone knows he's bound to no one but himself.

Shiro puts his hand on the door handle of the shuttle. For a second, he wonders, _what if_. What if he doesn't close it, doesn’t let it take him back to the Atlas, where his days are filled with more politics than anything else? What if he just walks away from it all now?

Reality takes hold. There's a reason what ifs are what ifs. He tightens his grip on the handle and pulls the shuttle door shut.

He tugs his uniform jacket straight, but it does nothing for the wrinkles etched into the fabric, and even less for the ones etched into his face. He does not want to know what his eye bags look like right now.

Once upon a time, sleeping alone on a foreign bed wouldn't have fazed him. Now, the unfamiliar bed, combined with the lack of Keith’s warmth beside him, leads to long, restless nights. Shiro props his head against the window and prepares himself for a longer day ahead.

Next to him, Veronica's looking astoundingly cheerful for someone who Shiro suspects was having a bit too much fun with the Qarengi leader's daughter last night, given the way they were making eyes at each other before they stumbled off together.

Or maybe it's because of that.

“You sure we can't stay another day?” Veronica says, with the teasing, lackluster effort of one who expects the answer is no. “Now that talks are over, we can finally just enjoy the hot springs.”

“Command’s got us on a tight schedule,” Shiro says, though if it were up to him, he'd loosen it up to give the crew a bit of a holiday.

Their next stop is just a rendezvous at a Coalition hub for resupply and maintenance, and they've reserved more time than necessary in case anything comes up during the maintenance cycle. Shiro knows what's going on with Atlas inside and out, and he knows they don't need the extra time. What's a few more days to finally take a rest?

But Command is Command, as much as he feels an urge to resist.

He's grown attached to his crew, and he's definitely attached to Atlas, but sometimes, he regrets not being able to pull a Keith—regrets not being able to just say _fuck you_ to the Garrison and use his war-won experience to come back out here on his own terms.

His time with Voltron showed him what it was like to be beholden to no one’s whims but his own. It's hard to go back after that.

 _I don't think they've ratified the laws for grand theft auto in space yet_ , Keith said once, after Shiro spilled his musings in the safety of darkness and Keith’s arms.

Shiro appreciated the thought, but, at the time, the Garrison—and the Earth—needed so much. A newly-returned hero of Earth running off with their most technologically-advanced ship would have had enormous repercussions for the planet, and Shiro was very much aware of that.

But every time Keith’s smile dims, Shiro’s resolve dims with it. He's been serving the Garrison again for nearly five years now. Every day now, he has the thought, _what if_.

He’s thinking about it again, half-dozing against the shuttle door, when it opens from underneath him. He startles awake as he half falls out of the shuttle, and he's still not exactly sure what's happening when familiar, strong arms yank him out the rest of the way.

The door shuts in his face, silencing Veronica’s yelling, and Shiro’s left standing by the street and staring blankly as the shuttle zooms off without him.

He'd be more panicked, he thinks, if his attacker hadn't let go as soon as Shiro had been clear of the shuttle doors. Also, if he hadn’t recognized the feel of those arms wrapped around him.

“Merry Christmas,” Keith says from beside him, and kisses him soundly when Shiro turns to give him a disapproving look. “Wow. You really look like shit.”

Shiro rolls his eyes. “Well, you look—“

Really fucking good, actually, now that Shiro’s paying attention properly. Standard Qarengi clothing is two swathes of fabric, one wrapped around as a top and the other as a skirt. Keith looks distressingly good in his, purple and blue patterned fabric twisted in a way that shows off his shoulders and his stomach. His skirt ends just above his knees. The Qarengi would probably consider him fashionable. Shiro feels a little faint.

Keith hums, amused, and pushes him into another vehicle.

“Of course you look good,” Shiro says as Keith climbs in after him. “You always look good.”

“Uh-huh,” Keith says. He nods to the driver, who takes off without a word. “Take off your jacket.”

“Scandalous,” Shiro gasps, but he's pulling his arms out of the sleeves as he speaks.

Keith throws fabric in his face. “Can't have you wandering around like a walking Garrison poster boy after I've kidnapped you.”

Them being the only humans on this planet is probably more of a signal than his clothing, but Shiro’s not going to argue. He picks up the fabric. It’s long and mostly rectangular, with three strips on each side for artistic wrapping and tying.

“I can't believe you did this,” Shiro says as he wraps it over his undershirt. “The Garrison is going to kill you.”

“I have diplomatic immunity,” Keith says.

“That is not how diplomatic immunity works,” Shiro says, though he's sure Keith has some kind of _the-Garrison-screwed-me-over-so-I-said-fuck-them-and-became-an-alien-super-spy_ immunity that makes the Garrison choose their battles with him very carefully (and that makes Shiro think _what if what if what if_ ).

This one, he thinks, is probably not a worthwhile battle for them. And Keith, who's not nearly as reckless as he once was, must know it too, given the way he's not concerned that he's just kidnapped one of the highest-ranking officials of Earth’s space force.

“The shuttle driver’s not going to get in trouble for this, will they?” Shiro says.

“Nah.” Keith’s studying Shiro’s wrap work, which is making Shiro second-guess himself. “I told him to tell Veronica it was me.”

Shiro’s kind of impressed by how much Keith doesn't care. He rewraps the fabric under Keith’s assessing gaze and ties it off. “Does this look okay?”

“It looks okay,” Keith says, a smile pulling at his lips.

“Or you could help me not look like a fashion disaster for wherever we're going.”

“You look perfect,” Keith says. “As always.”

Shiro snorts. “Sure.” Then, “Where are we going, anyway? It's going to be hell getting off-planet.” Even if Keith somehow paid off the shuttle driver, he's sure everything else will be on lockdown now.

Keith’s smile turns conspiratory. “Who said we were going off-planet?”

* * *

Shiro closes his eyes and sighs, pleased, as hot water soaks into his skin and soothes his muscles. Every breath is bliss, and he sinks and sinks until his chin is touching the water.

He doesn't know how long he melts there until he hears the door to the bath opening, and Keith stepping in.

Okay,” Shiro says, on one long, happy breath, “I needed this.”

Keith squats down beside him, cups his chin, and kisses him. Shiro’s whole face is wet from dunking his head, and the meeting of their lips is hot and slick. Keith's eyes are half-lidded and just as heated when he draws away. It's the exact moment that Shiro realizes he's not getting out of this with his dick intact, and he's okay with that.

For now, Keith just smiles, fingers leaving hot streaks where they trail across Shiro’s chin as Keith stands and pulls off his own robe. The Qarengi are a private people, and the baths are all private too, small and ensconced within the bedrooms of the resort that Keith has chosen as Shiro’s prison. Keith slides in on the other side, but it's small enough that their knees knock anyway.

“You're gonna be a prune,” Keith says, rubbing their calves together.

Shiro looks at him through half-lidded eyes. “A sexy prune.”

“A sexy prune with a huge cock,” Keith says, pressing against it with his foot.

Shiro hums, shifting to give himself that little bit of extra pressure. Keith kindly indulges him.

“What were you doing out there?” Shiro says, nodding to the door of their room. “Took you a while.”

“Just sending a ransom message.”

That makes Shiro sit up, Keith’s foot slipping from his cock. “Seriously?”

Keith blinks at him, all wide-eyed innocence that Shiro suspects he picked up from Shiro himself, and runs his foot along the side of Shiro's thigh instead. “That's what every good kidnapper does, right?”

Shiro wonders who at Command was unlucky enough to be the one to receive Keith’s message. “What did you even ask for?”

“Just enough money for a stay at a Qarengi resort,” Keith says, “for every member of the Atlas crew.”

“And they agreed to that?”

Keith shrugs. “Sounds like everyone was overdue for a holiday bonus anyway.”

Shiro sighs and slumps back. That’s Keith for you. “Well, you're definitely on the Garrison’s shit list now.”

“They won’t do anything to me anyway,” Keith says, with remarkable surety, and Shiro thinks _what if_.

Keith rests his foot back on Shiro’s cock, and Shiro squirms and sighs.

“Anyway, I'm pretty sure they agreed you all could use a break," Keith says, “I just had to look disappointed with them and they caved right away.”

“Or it could be that your reputation precedes you.”

Keith strokes him lightly. “Oh, it definitely does.”

Shiro hums. There will be consequences, he's sure, but warm and pleased as he is, he can't seem to care.

“I wonder if some of the rest of the crew will show up at this resort,” Shiro says. “Would it be weird to meet up?”

“Hey, you're mine right now, remember?” The pressure increases, not to pain, but enough to make Shiro’s breath hitch. Keith tilts his head and gives Shiro a lazy smile. “And I'm not really planning on letting you leave this room, so.”

“Oh,” Shiro says. Yeah, that tracks. “Oh, okay.”

Keith leans back, lounging against the back of the bath. “Mmhm. So rest up, old timer. You're gonna need it.”

* * *

Despite Keith's threats (promises?), they don't get down to business for a while.

They spend a bit longer just lounging in the baths—which turns more handsy and less lounging after Keith decides to climb into Shiro’s lap. But they’re still soft and slow and lazy about it, and neither of them actually get off before there's a knock on the outer bedroom door, and Keith leaves Shiro to _keep being a prune_ as he slips out and throws on a robe.

As soon as the door closes, Shiro realizes he really doesn't want to be away from Keith right now, and he pulls himself out of the bath and follows.

There are covered platters of dishes spread all across the table. Keith takes one more before shutting the door. “Hope you're hungry.”

“Starving.”

The food is, to Shiro’s uncultured eye, the standard Qarengi fare Shiro’s been eating all week in the state building, but the taste is infinitely better in Keith’s company.

They talk about everything and nothing—what's going on with the other members of their team, Allura’s recent visit to the Atlas, the planets that Keith and the other Blades have been freeing from the Galra Commanders scattered throughout the universe who think the Empire’s time is not yet up.

Keith insists Shiro’s work is important too, and Shiro believes him, but, objectively speaking, hopping from galaxy to galaxy to shake hands with alien dignitaries pales in comparison to emancipating entire planets.

( _What if_.)

Afterward, Keith puts their dishes outside and folds up the table to make room for their bed, which is just a mattress that he pushes up against a wall. They're too full to do anything except talk and lean against the wall and cuddle, and Shiro falls asleep with his cheek pillowed on the top of Keith’s head.

He wakes up to Keith trying to ease out from under him and makes a questioning noise.

“Gotta pee,” Keith whispers.

Shiro grunts his assent and, when Keith leaves, slides down to lie properly on the bed. He grimaces as he stretches out the soreness in his neck and shoulders. It's not the first time he's fallen asleep in a horribly uncomfortable position—it’s worth it, to sleep on Keith—so it only takes a few moments to adjust before he's relaxed again. He must drift off, because he stirs awake to Keith getting back into bed. Shiro reaches out to help him slide under the covers, and also to hold him securely enough that he can't get out again.

Keith laughs softly, a warm, pleasant rumble. Shiro falls asleep to the vibrations of it soothing his chest.

Shiro wakes again, and the light peeking behind the curtains looks like morning. Keith is sprawled all over him, long limbs and long hair splayed across Shiro’s body. Shiro blows hair out of his face. It flops right back. Shiro sighs and wiggles his nose until he can breathe, at least. Then he curls his arm around Keith's waist and falls back asleep.

The next time Shiro wakes, it's to soft, warm lips on his, and a weight across his body. Keith's leg is warm and heavy between his thighs. Shiro grinds up against it.

He wishes he could wake up to this every morning.

He could, if he really wanted to.

( _What if_.)

Keith pulls back. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and Shiro can practically feel his pupils dilating at the sight of it.

“Get enough rest?” Keith says.

“Never,” Shiro says. He cups the side of Keith's face, brushes his thumb across the angled cheekbone. He'll always be weak for the way Keith's eyelashes flutter as he leans into it. “I could probably go a round or two, though.”

“Only two?” Keith presses a hand over Shiro’s on his cheek, and turns his face to kiss the palm. It sends shivers down Shiro’s spine. “I've got bigger plans than that for you, sweetheart.”

“All right, sweetheart,” Shiro says, a bit breathlessly. “Let's see what we can do.”

* * *

Shiro, shamefully, is overwhelmed and overstimulated after the first time Keith makes him come.

Keith takes his sweet time laying him out, coaxing every part of Shiro to open up to him while Shiro thrashes, torn between ecstasy and impatience. He's about to snap and push Keith over and ride him until he’s satisfied when Keith gets the message and finally fucks him into the mattress.

It’s all over from there. Even Keith’s surprised by how much Shiro whines, after, and they stay in bed just kissing until Shiro has sense again.

“You don't fuck me enough,” Shiro complains once he's soaking in the tub again, and Keith is making fun of the fact that they only managed one round.

“Don't make it sound like it's my fault,” Keith says, flicking water at him. “Look at your dick. How am I supposed to not want to sit on that?”

“Yeah, okay,” Shiro says. “Blame my giant dick.”

“Don't act like you don't like sticking it in me.”

Shiro does, in fact, like sticking his giant dick in Keith. But sometimes he also wants to be fucked until he's pliant and sobbing and sleepy.

Which, coincidentally, is also an excellent look on Keith.

“It's okay,” Keith says wryly. “You don't have to bottom forever.”

Shiro sighs. “Why can't we do both at the same time?”

“Well,” Keith says, “I did bring toys.”

Keith thought this through very, very well.

“I love you so much,” Shiro says, hearts in his eyes.

Keith hums. “You can show me how much, later.”

But Shiro forgets about the toys later.

He throws Keith onto the bed so hard that he bounces, and Keith laughs when Shiro wrestles his limbs to the mattress and sobs when Shiro crowds him into the corner of the bed and the wall and fucks him into it.

It's an entirely different kind of heaven, to surround Keith and fill him in a way that no one else can.

No one else has ever seen Keith like this, with this particular kind of weakness, soft and senseless and sweet. It's moments like these that have Shiro on some strange precipice of power, where Keith gives all of himself over to be undone and remade under Shiro’s hands. Keith trusts him, them, enough to shatter and loves Shiro enough to let him use himself to fill in the cracks.

It's heady.

Shiro licks into Keith’s mouth and leaves filthy promises in his wake as he pulls out and leaves Keith limp and panting.

Keith takes one look at him, then flops over, burying his face in the pillow. “You don't have to look so smug.”

Shiro throws himself over Keith and nuzzles the curve of his jaw. Keith came three times, bless Galra refractory periods. Of course he's going to be smug. “I still got it.”

“You're not going to lose it just because it's been a few months,” Keith grumbles, pushing weakly at Shiro, though there's a pleased undertone to his words that makes Shiro snuggle closer, blissed out on affection.

“Love you,” he murmurs into Keith’s jawbone.

Keith sighs, but he’s smiling when he turns his face for a kiss. “I love you, too.”

Shiro holds him close and wants with his entire being.

 _What if, what if, what if_.

* * *

Shiro loves Keith in all his forms.

He’s a vision in the pilot’s seat, fire and determination and focus, blazing through the sky like a star that won't ever burn out.

He’s captivating as a leader, his hard-won self-confidence shimmering like a second skin that others—that Shiro—can't help but be drawn toward.

He's steadfast as a friend, loyal and faithful and present, always; the kind of friend Keith had always wished he'd had for himself.

He's thrilling as a lover, sweetly generous with his affection and his praise, and all the more beautiful when he's too overwhelmed for either, eyes slitting and fingers sharpening to points as he takes and takes and takes.

He's ethereal at midnight, eyes reflecting with an alien light as they sit on the balcony and look up at foreign constellations, recollecting the shapes of their past and charting, vaguely, the courses of their future.

 _I will always find you_ , Keith says, honest and sure as he always is.

With the number of times he's done that—crossed the universe and back to return Shiro from where he was lost—Shiro believes him.

But Shiro doesn't want to be lost anymore.

* * *

“I'm going to quit,” Shiro says quietly.

The blackout curtains are drawn, but his eyes are adjusted enough to the pitch black that he can still see Keith’s expression. Not surprised. Not excited, either.

“Will you be happy with that?” Keith says.

“I've thought about it more since last time,” Shiro says. Last time, when Keith had essentially said _run away with me_ , and Shiro had essentially said _but my obligations_.

He does still have obligations—too many count. But he also knows what's more important than any of them.

“It'll be five years soon,” Shiro says. “They should be able to survive without me. If they can't, they have bigger problems.”

“And your career?” Keith says.

Shiro laughs. “You know I never gave a shit about titles.”

“Just the freedom that came with them,” Keith says.

“Yeah.” Shiro leans against him. “But that’s nothing compared to the freedom I’d have with you.”

Keith squeezes his hand under the covers. “I could take you to Verazaal,” he says, something more hopeful in his voice. “It's been a while since you've seen my mom.”

“I could finally do that year-long courtship ritual your mom keeps telling me about.”

“It's only six months,” Keith says. “The last six are for the wedding.”

“Galra weddings are six months long?”

Keith shrugs, shoulder sliding against Shiro’s. “We take weddings very seriously.”

That's a bit intimidating, but not strange, considering that everything about the way Galra approach romantic relationships is intimidating.

It's not soulmates, Keith told him, but the opposite. When you find that person whose happiness you would trade the universe for, and who would do the same for you in return, you gave them your bond, and they gave you theirs. It's not fate, but a choice, made with clear intention, and it's that foundation of mutual trust and respect that naturally leads to a lifetime partnership of dedication and devotion.

Keith told him, the same time he told him the rest of it, that the only person he could imagine giving his bond to was Shiro.

And Shiro felt the same.

It's not technically an engagement in the eyes of Galra until Shiro initiates the courtship rituals, and not technically one in the eyes of humans until they get rings, but in this liminal space of culture and tradition between Galra and human, it’s as much of an engagement as can be.

And Shiro’s waited too long to follow through on it.

So when Keith says, “You're going to be giving up a lot,” Shiro knows—

“I should have given it all up a long time ago.”

Keith is silent.

“I told you that I'd trade the universe for you,” Shiro says. “Let me prove it.”

“You don't need to prove anything to me,” Keith says.

“Then let me prove it to myself.”

“You—” Keith says.

Then he stops, and just looks at Shiro for a moment, and Shiro waits and waits while Keith worries at his lip. Finally, Keith softens and says, “I love you.”

Shiro smiles, small and sure. “I love you too.”

* * *

“Restful kidnapping, Captain?” Veronica says.

Keith glances at her from the reception desk, where he's checking out of the resort, acknowledges her presence with a nod, then turns away again.

“Could've been worse,” Shiro says. “I hope you weren’t too worried about me.”

“Not in the slightest.” Veronica glances over at Keith. “Will Keith be joining us on the Atlas?”

“Actually,” Shiro says, grinning at the way Keith’s head whips around at his tone, “I think I’ll be joining him.”

“Shiro,” Keith says, and Shiro reaches out to take his hand and hold tight.

“I’ll send over my resignation letter before we leave,” Shiro says. “Tell Iverson I’m eloping.”

Veronica laughs, and she doesn’t sound the least bit surprised. “What is the Garrison going to do with the both of you?”

“After this?” Shiro says. “Nothing at all.”

No more what ifs. Keith’s hand is in his, and the universe is a sprawling mass of stars and life before them that he can’t wait to explore.

Beside him, Keith smiles, beautiful and proud, and Shiro’s never felt more certain of anything in his life.

Together, they’re free.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! ♥  
> i love, appreciate, and reply to all comments, even if it takes me a little while to get to them :)
> 
> catch me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ailurea)!


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